A Hand to Hold
by wynnebat
Summary: Harry's acting too friendly, Draco's trying to ignore him, Ron and Hermione are secretly amused, and Teddy's just adorable. H/D SLASH.


**Title:** A Hand to Hold

**Summary:** Harry's acting too friendly, Draco's trying to ignore him, Ron and Hermione are secretly amused, and Teddy's just adorable. H/D SLASH.

**Warnings:** Slash, fluff, a happy ending you can predict from like the first scene.

**Notes:** This chapter has been rewritten for the third time and it's now 50% less woobie!Draco. I think I'm totally happy with the chapter now!

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**Chapter One**

He would not look, Draco vowed silently. He refused to look. He was an unbendable force of nature that _would not look_.

Okay, he looked. But only for a moment. Just a quick glance.

Harry Potter, "eighth" year student and Boy-Who-Saved-Us-All-Again, sat two tables away, grinning widely and bickering loudly with Seamus Finnegan. Something about the blasted Chudley Cannons. Barring his two best friends, who sat nearby and only had eyes for one another, the entire Gryffindor table was staring at their Great Git of a Savior in awe.

It was already October of the school year following the end of the Second Wizarding War, but everyone still stared at Harry like he had defeated the Dark Lord yesterday. The Gryffindor table especially sought stories of their great Defeater of Evil. Draco wished he could shut all of them up. He would rather glare at Harry than whimper at his awesomeness.

He would love to just throw something at the stupid Gryffindors. Or start complaining loudly to his table to get Harry riled up, maybe mime something about his messy hair. Or loudly stomp out of the great hall with Crabbe and Goyle at his heels.

It felt unnatural to sit at the Slytherin table and fume silently instead of glaring at the Oh So Superior Super Harry Potter. Two years ago, he would have been in the middle of a glaring match with the Gryffindor golden boy. They would have been shouting curses and shooting the first spells that came to mind. Draco would have poisoned Harry's apple juice with farting powder. Something would have been happening. Anything but this tense silence on his end and utter obliviousness on Harry's.

Draco found it hard to accept that he and Harry would never again argue noisily and fight stupid duels. They weren't rivals anymore, not after Harry testified on Draco and Narcissa's behalves during their trial. He couldn't hate him after Harry went on and on about how Draco wouldn't identify him when he was captured, and that Draco's bad decisions as a minor shouldn't ruin his future. That was the moment that "Potter the arsehole Boy-Who-Lived" became "Harry the Too-Nice-For-His-Own-Good-Man".

He actually sounded like he believed everything he said, and the Wizengamot gobbled it right up. They gave Draco a light sentence of one year of house arrest and two years of spells monitoring his wand. Narcissa was given five years and no spell monitoring, mainly because she had never partaken in dark magic and wasn't a Death Eater. And because without her lie to the Dark Lord, the war could have ended much differently. Lucius… there had been no way to lighten his sentence, but for not fighting in the Final Battle and rarely fighting in the Second War, he was given ten years in Azkaban. A lighter sentence that it would have been previously, when Azkaban still had Dementor guards.

The Wizengamot had waived his house arrest for the school year and allowed him to attend his final year at Hogwarts, but only as long as he caused no trouble and never left school grounds. Draco had to be on his absolute best behavior. Just one step out of line and he'd fill out the rest of his house arrest at home, with only his mother for company.

Being forbidden to leave school grounds, of course, wasn't a problem. He felt no pull to traverse the Forbidden Forest or take a trip to Hogsmeade or run away and live like a druid. It was just too lonely to go somewhere without friends. He was spoiled after six years of Crabbe and Goyle's constant presence. They had been true friends: loyal, strong, brave. As a child, he'd never appreciated them, but now he felt their loss keenly. Crabbe was dead and Goyle had left the country with his father, and couldn't write lest the Aurors catch up to Goyle senior.

He had other friends, of course: Zabini, Parkinson, the two Greengrasses. (The final person in their year, Theodore Nott, was serving a year's sentence in Azkaban. Draco wrote to him weekly but it didn't supplant the loss his absence brought.) Most of the time Parkinson and Zabini were too busy shagging on every solid surface to hang out, and the Greengrasses were expecting overtures of marriage any day now. It put a damper on any friendship they could have begun.

Draco was too old to make new friends, and had no opportunity to, either. He would be damned if he lowered himself to talking to the lower-year Slytherins. Most of them were either secret supporters of the Dark Lord who'd gotten out of punishment because of their youth (Draco didn't want anything to do with that sort of ideology, not when he'd been so close to going to Azkaban himself) or converts to the Light side (which meant they would want nothing to do with him). Even Slytherins needed to keep their somewhat-good names. And the idea of making friends outside his house was laughable.

He chanced another glance at Harry, remembering the time he'd tried to become friends with him. They'd both been so young and stupid. _He'd_ been stupid. It wasn't like there had ever been a chance of a friendship between two sons of parents on opposite sides working out. Harry was talking with the other two in his trio about something when he looked up and caught Draco's eye.

Draco stiffened. He wasn't going to take that as some sort of antagonism, was he? Dammit. He could already see the letter to the Wizengamot: _Honored Sirs and Madams, I the Boy-Who-Lived am being harassed by that Death Eater you let into Hogwarts…_

And then Harry did the oddest thing: he smiled, winked, and went back to his conversation.

Draco sat there, stunned. What was that supposed to mean? He'd expected a glare, or maybe indifference, but a smile and a wink? What was Harry up to? Draco shook his head and glanced around him for his year mates, desperately in need of a distraction. Parkinson and Zabini were making out – _ew_ – and the Greengrass sisters were giggling together. Not a good sign.

Deciding to leave rather than sit there in boredom, he left his half-eaten breakfast for the house elves and walked out of the great hall. His tablemates probably didn't even notice him leave, he thought with a sigh. Crabbe and Goyle would have, he knew. They would have left with him even if they'd really, really wanted to stuff their faces some more.

Harry probably didn't notice him leave either, despite that weird wink and smile. He'd probably been aiming it at someone else. Draco was silly thinking it was for him. Who needed Saint Potter's attention anyway? He and Harry didn't give a damn about each other this year. He was above Harry Potter's attention.

He trudged down the hallway, his hands in the pockets of his robes. He knew he should stop his mental complaining. He sounded like a petulant child. Or worse, the person he'd been before the war. He'd changed enough, made some awful realizations, that reverting to the person he'd been was a terrible idea. He should be glad he wasn't in Azkaban, not complaining about how Harry Potter wouldn't pay attention to him.

No matter how much the Prophet had complained, he was in Hogwarts, building a future for himself and thinking of ideas to clear his family name. No matter how many people barged through the Ministry, screaming that the whole Malfoy family should rot in prison. At the very least.

He entered the dungeons, grabbed his books, and headed towards the Potions classroom. Snape's Potions classroom. No matter how many teachers would teach after Snape, it would always be Snape's room.

Snape, who would never be coming back to teach Potions. Snape, who wouldn't be able to humiliate future generations of Gryffindors. Snape, who killed Dumbledore when Draco couldn't. Snape, who talked him out of suicide every time Draco was tortured and was forced to torture. Snape, who was stronger than Draco's own father. Snape, who died for Dumbledore. Snape, who died without telling Draco what side he'd really been on. He'd found out about his godfather's true loyalties from Potter of all people, during his speech to the Dark Lord.

Draco gulped back the rock that had formed in his throat. He wasn't going to get emotional fifteen minutes before the lesson. He was going to walk in inconspicuously, take a seat in the back corner, and keep his head down. Because that was the only way he could deal with being in Snape's former classroom.

He took his seat at his desk, opened his book, and started rereading last night's homework just because he needed something to do. He kept reading and rereading each paragraph as the first bell rang and people filled in the rest of the tables? Zabini sat down next to him, and they acknowledged each other easily, having been Potions partners for the last six years. Parkinson hadn't made it into NEWT Potions, thank Merlin.

He didn't have to look up to know when Harry entered the room. School started a month ago, but conversation still stopped when the Savior of the Wizarding World graced a room with his presence, the people too awed at Harry's Super Awesomeness to do anything but gape.

"Hello, Harry m'boy! Sleep well? Good, good!" Slughorn announced, not waiting for Harry's answer but still broadcasting his favoritism to the rest of the class. He sat down behind Snape's desk and waved his wand for the day's lesson to appear behind him. "Mr. Malfoy, and everyone else with their textbooks out, put away your readings! We're having a lab practical today. Your success depends on how well you studied last night! Now class, today we will be brewing the Aging Potion! It's not very complicated compared to our later material, but it uses tricky brewing methods that you should've read about. You'll just have to get accustomed to them, since this is NEWT level Potions. I've written the procedure on the board. Get to it!"

Draco maneuvered around the tables and walked to the supply cabinet, Blaise a few steps behind him. Between them, they grabbed everything but a container of crocodile scales and went back to their desk. Draco took an inventory of everything they had, and raised his hand to tell Slughorn the cupboard was out of crocodile scales. With Snape, he would have boldly called out that he need the scales and inserted some comment about his great father. Draco almost blushed, thinking about it. Snape had seen him at his worst, a snotty brat, and still loved him and practically raised him when his father couldn't.

"Umm, Professor Slughorn? Draco has his hand up," exclaimed a voice. Again, conversation hushed as the Savior spoke.

Slughorn looked up from the papers he was grading. Draco couldn't help but think that Snape wouldn't have let his attention stray from the class for a second, even in a NEWT level class.

"Oh, yes, of course. What is it, Mr. Malfoy?"

"You're out of crocodile scales, sir. I wasn't able to find any in the cupboard," Draco replied.

Slughorn checked the cupboard, then summoned a container of scales from his office. Draco took the time to check the quality of his ingredients. Whatever Slughorn's personality was like, Draco was happy to say he always made sure their ingredients were fresh and good quality.

Horace Slughorn was his new Head of House, though they still didn't get along very well. In a letter to him a few weeks ago, his father had revealed that Slughorn and Abraxas Malfoy, Draco's grandfather, became frosty towards one another after a row and Slughorn's grudge extended to his children. Draco wondered what had happened, but even his father didn't know the details. After the war ended, Slughorn wasn't antagonistic towards him, but he definitely wasn't friendly. Draco wondered if Slughorn's treatment of him was a way to make up for the pudgy man's inaction during the war, or if he was just showing his true feelings.

Draco started cutting up the other ingredients before filling his cauldron half-way with water. He lit a fire under it and resumed cutting the roots.

A pile of crocodile scales was set down onto his table, next to Draco.

"Thank-you, sir," Draco said without looking up. He assumed Slughorn had just levitated them onto his desk instead of getting up.

"You don't really need to call me sir," an amused voice replied.

Draco grit his teeth as a body leaned over his cauldron, invading his personal space. "Thank you, Potter," he muttered with a great deal of patience and a profusion of humiliation. He would be the bigger man this year. Even though Harry had the nerve to grow taller than him during his escapades in the woods last year.

He resumed stirring the potion and dropped the scales in, all while studiously ignoring Harry, who had apparently decided it would be fun to watch Draco complete the assignment.

"Is there something you need, Potter?" Draco asked after a few minutes, just managing to keep his tone polite. Harry had walked around Draco's desk and sat in the empty chair to Draco's right, stretching his legs on the desk, far enough from Draco's cauldron that they wouldn't be burned. He was doing no work. Just staring at Draco. It was unnerving.

"Nope."

Draco dropped some violet-colored roots into the solution and stirred until it reached the look and feel of water but the smell of Acromantula venom. Harry still hadn't left. Was he stuck or something? Draco glanced a few times in Harry's direction, but there was no change in his presence.

Another few minutes passed. Harry was still sitting next to him, staring at him. It was getting rather irksome. Maybe Harry just woke up this morning and thought, _Hey, I haven't annoyed Malfoy lately!_

"Time's up," Slughorn's voice boomed. Snape's wouldn't have been as loud, but still more forceful. But truly, Snape and Slughorn could never compare. "Let's see your potions, boys and girls!"

Harry finally moved back to his original spot next to Granger and whispered something to the girl, who playfully shoved Harry aside. Was there a romance in the works? Funny, he'd thought Granger and Weasley were still together, even if you'd have to live under a rock to not know Harry and the Weaslette had broken up.

"Hmm… Passable, atrocious, good, good, great job, passable, come in after dinner tomorrow, What is this supposed to be? Come in with Smith, good," Slughorn commented. He reached Draco, and reluctantly said, "Well done."

Draco noticed that the only "great job" went to Harry, who at the last second had joined Granger in their little group and hadn't actually done any work. He could bet his Gringotts account that Harry would even finish the year with an Outstanding NEWT in Potions without any effort at all, though he'd no doubt be bothered continuously by Granger to do his work.

"Okay, good work everyone! Read pages 98 through 106 for Thursday. Edmonds, Smith, I'll see you after dinner when you come to re-brew your potion. Finnegan, I'll see you tomorrow evening," the professor called, rushing out the door. Students shuffled out after him.

Draco slowly put his things away, taking care not to spill the potion on his skin.

"Hey, Draco," someone said.

Draco looked up. Not again. "Yes, Potter?" He prided himself on his even, unemotional tone.

Harry kept walking closer. And closer. What in Merlin's name was wrong with the guy? Draco grabbed his bag and headed toward the door.

"Hey, wait!"

He felt a hand grab onto his shoulder and angrily whipped around to push Harry away. Harry didn't cringe under his glare, but he did look less confident than before. Good, even if Harry did look less attractive when nervous. Not that Draco regularly noticed Harry's attractiveness.

"What do you want?" Damn, he hadn't meant to snap, but the guy was getting on his last nerve. Winking at him during breakfast, bothering him in class, and now this.

Harry, instead of running to the Ministry of Magic and complaining to his best friend the Minister, grinned. "I knew you were still the same snarky git. Here." Harry took what looked like a photo album out of his bag and handed it to him. "I know you probably don't want this, but, well, you really should have it."

Draco gingerly opened the album to a photo of a child who must be his cousin and tried to say something. Anything. Thank-you, what the hell, I don't want this, is he a werewolf, take it back, he's a cute kid, I'm sorry for my friend almost killing you, I hate that you saved me, he has my eyes.

Harry kept talking in the meantime. "It's not too late for you to connect to them. Andromeda and Teddy would be happy to get to know you. It's only me and Andromeda now, looking after him. If you want, you could come with me on the next Hogsmeade trip. I alerted the Ministry just in case."

The next Hogsmeade trip would be in two weeks, and Draco would be happy to get out of the castle for any reason other than this. He didn't want to connect to his estranged family. Or rather, he did, but maybe later, like in a decade or so. He didn't want to visit his mother's grieving sister, who'd only lost her husband that year, and know that his side of the war had killed him. If it had happened to him, he knew he wouldn't be very forgiving.

"I'll think about it. Anything else?" Draco finally said.

Harry looked like he was about to say something, but reconsidered it. "Nah. That's it. I'd really appreciate it if you thought about it. Um. They'd really appreciate it. Too."

Draco shrugged and left the room. Harry was acting oddly, for some reason or another. Maybe if he agreed to the offer, he'd even figure out the reason.

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Please review and tell me what you think of it! I'd really appreciate it.


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